


The Cost and Pleasure of Power

by MellytheHun



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Beach Divorce Fix-It, Bottom Charles, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Antisemitism, Mentions of Holocaust, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Charles, Oblivious Erik, Obnoxiously Lengthy Monologues, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pining, Top Erik Lehnsherr, Tumblr Prompt, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 08:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19146955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Anonymous asked: Cherik first time they sleep together with all the angsty feels





	The Cost and Pleasure of Power

“I’ve been at the mercy of men ‘just following orders,’” Erik growls to Charles, his eyes going dead with ghosts below and behind them, “Never again.”

“Fine!” Charles shouts suddenly, tears brimming.

The impulse to jump at Erik, tackle him to the ground, try to fight someone he knows he’s no physical match for - it does occur to Charles to try. But his voice comes out quicker.

At the outburst, Erik turns to look at Charles again, sees him trembling, his hands shaking violently as he gesticulates, and says, “fine! Erik - kill - kill those men, if you must, but, please, do not make me a weapon! Let me leave here - do what you must, but let me live in peace, Erik. Don’t force me to be a part of this, I can’t - I can’t, Erik… I can’t be a part of killing these men, and I can’t begrudge you what you perceive as justice, I can’t… but, please, Erik… if you’re going to kill those men, if you wear that helmet, because you distrust me so - let me go. Let go all of us that can walk away, continue living as we have, without such blood on our hands. I cannot know your pain, Erik, I can see it in memories, I can even experience some of the agony, but I cannot know what they did to your soul… if this is what you must do, then choose them - choose this. Choose killing them, over leaving with me, but do not trap me here, making me this-this accessory to what you’re about to do. Please, Erik.”

The missiles are still frozen in air, and Erik keeps one hand up, focused on them, and uses the other to slip the helmet off his head.

The sudden reappearance of Erik’s psyche, to Charles, is like having been stuck below water all this time, and finally breaking the surface, gasping at fresh air. It’s so immediately reassuring, and comforting, Charles doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“I do not distrust you, Charles,” Erik replies calmly, “I would never venture to keep you prisoner, either. I… I would not force you to do, or be, anything against your will, Charles. And I would never make you into a weapon.”

Flashes of Shaw come to Charles’ mind - they’re not his memories, he knows. It’s Erik’s - Erik remembering being primed, being bred to maim, to kill, to hone his powers through rage, and anguish, being wondered over by sadists, tinkered with by ‘doctors,’ - sharpened, perfected. Like a weapon. 

“I’m sorry - I didn’t mean -”

“I know,” Erik intercepts, seeming to truly mean it, “Charles… will you really leave here? Leave me? If I do this? You know I’m right - you know we cannot live in secrecy, in fear, in hiding anymore - the world will be changed today, and we _will_ be persecuted. You know this. I want you by my side, Charles.”

 _And I want you by mine, my friend, but I cannot do this_ , Charles tells him.

_I’ve never wanted anyone to stay before, Charles. I’ve never needed anyone. Can you leave me so easily? Am I truly so disposable?_

_I **died** for you today_, Charles replies, sending Erik memories of experiencing Shaw’s death, noting the way Erik flinches, _Slowly. Painfully. You are **not** disposable, Erik, I cherish you. And you are right - the world is changed, but I do not want to part with you because of that inevitability. I cannot be what you want me to be, though, Erik - I cannot be party to this. _

“I want peace, Erik,” Charles says softly, “I want to live in a world where our differences are celebrated, and that hatred, and ignorance is scarce, and frowned upon, but you have taught me how naive I have been. The world will not be so easily swayed - perhaps, ever - but I know it cannot be conquered either. Not through hatred, not even through righteous vengeance. Those feelings will not see you through to a victory over the _entire world_. Too many people will die in your pursuit of this, Erik. Too many people I don’t want to have any part in killing. If you want this path, my friend… I must go. Please, believe me when I tell you that if you tell me you choose their deaths, over a life with me, and the family you have made these past months, you will not be the only one feeling disposable.”

Erik’s eyes shimmer with emotion - untranslatable, unreadable, but so long as those green-silver eyes aren’t so cold and dead anymore, Charles doesn’t mind not being able to tell what they are relaying.

_My heart **breaks** , Erik - to think of leaving you. I would beg you to follow me out of here, if I thought that would make the difference, but I don’t want you to follow me out of here out of a sense of guilt, or as if you’ve been emotionally blackmailed. I only mean to tell you that I cannot bear what killing these people will do to me. I cannot do it. And I know you can - you have carried many dead on your shoulders, and I do not envy you for it. If this is what you want, my friend, I cannot begrudge you it. _

_You could force me to go with you_ , Erik mentions, _You could make me stop. You could make all of this stop. You could control my powers._

_You know I would never do that, Erik. Not to you. Never you._

A single tear falls from Erik’s right eye, and Charles’ heart splinters. He can feel the turmoil in Erik’s mind, and he wishes he could clear it all away at once, give Erik rest. For once.

There is such a fierce divide - Erik’s principles, so steadfast, so resolute, and the only compass he has followed for all his life - they tell him to send those missiles back unto the men that fired them. He has no pity in his heart for the weak-willed, the men ‘just following orders.’ 

But then there is another part of him - something that is incredibly strong, battling his long-held beliefs. This presence, something purposefully being kept from Charles’ inner-eye, it’s powerful enough to be equal to Erik’s rage.

It’s the serenity, Charles supposes. It must be. Sacred memories, memories of innocence, kindness, the false trust that the world means well by one. Memories of a simpler time, being a simpler man.

 _My friend_ , Charles pleads, _Can you give me a chance? A chance to mend the wounds in you? Can you give me just one opportunity - come back with me. Come back to the mansion, to this family we have made, help me build this school you think is foolish, see what life could be like with a home, and the pain of sacrificing, and taking lives, behind you - I want you there with me - you make me a better man. I like the person I am when I am with you, Erik. I am not saying my love will fix what those psychotic, evil men did to you in those camps, Erik, but perhaps, my love, the love of Raven, of Hank, of Sean, of all of us - perhaps that love might outweigh the pain. Perhaps you will find that protecting what is precious to you is more important than destroying what may someday be a threat to you - and if I am wrong, you know you can leave. You can leave any time, any day - and I will miss you, and I will wonder forever if there was more I could have done. But I will never force you to stay, Erik, and if this is what you want, I will not stop you._

Erik hesitates.

Charles’ resolve begins to whither.

“Am I too late?” Charles asks sincerely, tears finally streaming down his face, his chest feeling like it’s caving in.

He holds his forehead in his hand, his shoulders curling in, the cries making him shake all over.

_Is my companionship too many years too late? Have I failed you, Erik? Oh, God - have **I failed you**?_

The immense guilt and fear that overtakes him is projected into Erik, and even Erik has to shut his eyes against the flood of it. 

There is Raven - wondering if she is beautiful in her most natural form, and Charles, floundering, saying all the wrong things, regretting every moment he had to tell her she is beautiful and not saying so. There is Hank, and all the reassurance he needed to accept his mutation, how his cosmetic experiments should not have been so encouraged, but Charles fell short there too, and now Hank is in danger for simply looking the way he does. 

There are the CIA agents that lost their lives, there are the kids they lost to Shaw, the people they couldn’t recruit, there is Charles’ mother, and then Erik at the fore - _Erik, his **hero** \- Erik, the Nazi-Slayer - Erik, the Metal Manipulator - Erik, the **Survivor** \- fantastic, miraculous, incredible, amazing, remarkable, beautiful, one of a kind, so brave, so strong, so efficient, so unique, keep forever, keep happy, share all I have with him, give him a family, give him a friend, give him a place where his heart can rest, be loyal to him, be good to be him, don’t fail him, don’t fail him, don’t fail him -_

Before Charles is fully aware of Erik’s shift in mood, there are several explosions from above - he drops his head from his head, and looks up into the sky. He watches as each missile safely detonates in air, ultimately falling into the sea, crumpled metal duds.

He looks to Erik, and watches Erik pick up the helmet from the sand.

Fear grips his heart, but Erik shakes his head at him, keeps the helmet under his arm, and tells him, “it would be trouble, in the wrong hands. It would be good to take it back to the mansion. Have Hank look at it. Perhaps he can find out what’s so special about this metal, and we can find a way for you to break through it.”

It doesn’t occur to Charles right away that Erik is agreeing to go home with him. 

It seems too simple. 

“No one has loved me since my mother, Charles.”

Charles’ heart drops into his stomach, and keeping Erik’s intent gaze is difficult.

“So… I will try living your way - with unity, the pursuit of peace, and when war comes knocking - and I promise you, it will - I will be there to protect you. I did not believe my mother when she told me that everything would be alright - I couldn’t move the coin, Charles. I knew it wasn’t alright.”

The memories come to Charles’ frontal lobe, and he feels Erik’s young, naive despair.

“I did not trust her, because I knew, in my heart, I couldn’t protect her. Nothing was alright - she told me lies of comfort. I do not remember the last time I trusted someone. But I remember the last time someone loved me. I have spent most of my life, Charles, avenging that person that loved me last. I do not take this lightly.”

Erik’s eyes flash back and forth between Charles’ - Charles can see in Erik’s mind, blind fear, terror, really - pink triangles - starved prisoners with pink triangles sewn onto their clothes, the torture he knows they endured, and the anxiety he felt even then, too young to truly understand it. 

He is frightened of the love they’re discussing, but he is willing to face that fear, though Charles hardly understands how he deserves the honor of being the focal point of Erik’s courage.

_Do you mean it, Charles?_

_Yes._

_In what way?_

_You saw my sweater collection, and not only called me pretentious over a canary yellow sweater vest, but said something quite rude in Hebrew to me. Na falta al harosh?_

Erik smirks, and explains, _it means, ‘were you dropped on your head?’_

Charles smiles back, _yes - your tone made the insult all quite clear. When you said that to me, my first thought was that I should ask you to marry me, and the second thought I had was that you should teach me Hebrew, and the third thought I had was that it wasn’t legal for us to marry, but I’d get you a ring anyway, and my fourth thought was that I should wear that yellow sweater vest the next time I endeavor to drive you up a wall._

The shock on Erik’s part, at this revelation, is evident. 

_Are you really so surprised? I thought my pining was rather obvious._

_No one has ever **pined** for me before, I would not know the signs -_

_I promise, Erik, people across the world have pined for you, and you have likely walked by them without ever noticing with your obliviousness -_

_You weren’t frightened?_

At this, Charles tilts his head, reaches his hand out, and rests it against Erik’s chest.

“I’m _terrified_ , Erik. I’ve never… _felt_ this way. Not about anyone. But, what’s another mutation? I don’t mind who I am, Erik, but I’m not immune to fear. You’re not alone.”

Erik covers Charles’ hand with his own, squeezes lightly, and whispers, “and neither are you, my friend. Let’s get everyone out of here safely, then, Charles. Force Azazel to transport us home.”

 _Home?_   Charles asks with no small measure of awe.

_If it’s still mine to call -_

_Yes_ , Charles interrupts eagerly, _Yes - never doubt that, Erik. Wherever I am, I promise you, if I am reduced to a cardboard box in an alleyway, what I have to call a home will always be yours to call your own._

“Let’s see to it that it doesn’t come to that - I quite like the mansion.”

Charles smiles, and, shocking himself, he’s able to laugh - that’s how he knows it’s going to be okay.

His hand is in Erik’s, feeling Erik’s thundering heart against his palm, in the back of Erik’s mind, Charles can sense that he’s plotting to burn that canary yellow sweater vest at the first opportunity, and Charles is laughing.

It’s going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, I hated doing that…” Charles sighs, closing the study room door behind him.

He leans against the closed doors, and rubs at the bridge of his nose, scrunching his tired eyes. His mind feels rubbery, overworked, and his spirit is drained. The night has only just closed in on them, but Charles feels like a decade has passed since that morning.

“It was the right thing to do,” Erik reminds him, “I’m proud of you, Charles.”

That mention moves Charles, makes Charles’ heart flutter, and so he looks up to hopefully meet Erik’s eyes, and seek out the validation there. 

He is surprised to find Erik in long, dark pajama pants, and a t-shirt, walking about barefoot, just touching the spines of books on the wall.

He’s never seen Erik so casually dressed-down before. He’s never seen Erik look so… _soft_.

“The right thing to do, and the simple thing to do, are very rarely the same thing, Charles,” Erik continues, picking out a copy of _Crime and Punishment_ to handle idly, “Restricting information is not something you are unfamiliar with, but _taking_ information from someone was a great task for you. I know it was. I know you thought it… immoral. But you may have saved her life.”

Charles’ heart leaps into his throat when Erik turns to look at him, snapping the book shut gently in his hand.

“The other agents, and her superiors would never have believed her, that she didn’t know where you and I are. She would have been tortured for that information, if she had it - but now, she will have enough memory to know her memories were stolen from her, and to know she is safe by reporting that. You saved her, Charles. I know it wasn’t easy to do, and I am proud of you.”

There is a pregnant pause, and Charles blinks in astonishment, replying, “I’m sorry - I… I usually have something witty to say at a time like this, but I’m coming up empty. You’re not wearing shoes, and I don’t think I realized you existed out of sweaters and dress pants, and I’m just a bit… out of sorts… right now…”

Erik nods his understanding, puts _Crime and Punishment_ back where it belongs, and combs his hand through his towel-dried hair.

It looks satin-soft, and charmingly unkempt. 

Charles feels like he’s in deep, deep waters, perilous to tread.

Erik stops maybe a foot or so in front of him, and asks, “you are exhausted, _yonah_. You should dress for bed. I can see myself out.”  [yonah: ‘dove’ in Hebrew]

“No, no - not yet.”

Erik tilts his head in this dangerously endearing way, and Charles huffs out a laugh, saying, “we - we have things to, uhm - _discuss_ , don’t you think? A lot of things were said, and… just… and what’s a ‘yonah?’ Should I be offended?”

“I would certainly hope not,” Erik responds kindly, “And I don’t know that we have much to discuss, Charles. Unless you would take back what you told me in Cuba - if ‘pining,’ has some other meaning that I have misread -”

“No, no, I just, we should - for clarity’s sake, we should, uhm, just…”

He is _floundering_ \- Charles _never_ flounders. 

He’s truly lost his mind.

Erik extends one arm, takes Charles’ opposite hand by the other, and places Charles’ fingers on the numbers risen against his skin.

Charles gasps, head going light momentarily, and he searches Erik’s eyes for meaning.

“One of my many faults, Charles, is that I do all that I do with a heavy heart,” Erik begins, glancing down at where Charles’ fingertips are touching the mark of Erik’s greatest pains, “I take few things lightly. I am severe. In my severity, I never thought to imagine a world where someone loved me unconditionally, as my mother once did - I thought that, with her, died every chance I had, in love - of all forms. And then, at the eleventh hour, you arrived.”

Face growing hot, and most certainly red, Charles would like to look away, but can’t - he’s embarrassingly flustered, like one of the girls he would have made swoon in a college-town bar.

When it’s come to romance, Charles never treated it with much seriousness - it was meant to be fun, it was meant to be something of a game, an evolutionary tactic played best by those that knew the rules, and knew when to invest, and when to withdraw - it was a game of chess. 

But love can’t be that way with Erik - it can’t be temporary, it can’t be silly, it’s not a game. It will be like this - like Charles’ fingers on Erik’s numbers. Like Charles’ hands on Erik’s soul.

“I have journeyed far and wide, very much alone, Charles, and I never wanted for company - until you. I never _hesitated_ before you, I certainly _never_ questioned my decision to part ways with others before you - but you stopped me that night, outside the CIA facility. You pulled me back in, by telling me I was free to go.”

Erik takes a step closer, and Charles swears the air is getting thinner.

No. There is nothing silly about the way Erik is looking at him, or the way Erik makes him _feel_.

“Unconditional positive regard, that - you would respect me whether I stayed, or left. That is what inspired me to stay. I’m a well-guarded man, Charles. I set up walls inside, and I did not think… _loudly_ about you when you were in close proximity, but know that I have been consumed by you, day and night, ever since you found me in the water. I have thought of almost nothing else.” 

Erik’s grip gets softer, but he keeps Charles’ hand on his arm.

“I have known love, I have lost love, and I have grown strong now - strong enough to protect love from anything, and anyone, no matter the cost to me, I am ready now - I can move coins for love, I will move the very Earth out of orbit for love, if I must. And I love _you_ , Charles.”

_Oh, God…_

Charles had never imagined Erik actually _saying_ those words, and he couldn’t have imagined it properly if he’d ever tried - Erik’s deep, gravely voice, his accent that somehow makes everything he says kind of syrupy, and warm - and he’s a _man_. 

Of all the oddities in Charles’ life that he was prepared for, this was not one of them. 

“I want you, Charles.”

Charles’ head snaps up from where his eyes had drifted down to Erik’s lips.

“I want to kiss you, to touch you, to fuck you -”

“Jesus, Erik -”

Erik’s hand goes to Charles’ chest, pushing him up against the closed doors, stepping into Charles’ space until they’re breathing the same air, their faces tilted, very nearly touching.

Erik’s eyes shut, he breathes in deeply, and he continues, “Charles, I want to unravel you. I want to make you come undone, shake the marrow of your bones with all I do to you, until there’s nothing but placid silence in that brilliant mind of yours - until the only voice you hear is mine, worshipping you as you out to be. I could swallow you whole, Charles, if you let me.”

_Jesus fucking Christ…_

“I want to make you breakfast.”

Charles feels like he must have blacked out for a second, because he doesn’t remember the change of topic he now finds himself in - but Erik’s eyes are still shut, as though he’s dreaming.

“I want to take you to Europe, and I want to spoil you on fine dining, I want to give you shade on the beach, I want to lie in bed with you until noon on some lazy Sunday, I want to sit beside you, I want to have you near me, always. I want to provide for you, Charles. I want to give to you, I want to share with you, and I will fight armies, legions of men, I will destroy, even level cities, I will conquer worlds for you, Charles, I will kill, and die for you, Charles.”

Finally opening his eyes, Erik stares into Charles’, his gaze is heated, his pupils are dark, and Charles doesn’t remember the last time he breathed.

“I want to fuck you, Charles, until all you know to do is weep for me, for more of me, and I will provide it somehow, I will satiate your every want, I want to do that, and so much more, Charles - I want to share a life with you, here, in your school, living beside you, because I love you, but, possibly even more important than that, is that you love me.”

Erik backs up enough for them to maintain eye-contact without going cross-eyed. His hand spreads over Charles’ chest, and Charles is embarrassed to know the pounding Erik must be feeling against his hand.

“I did my duty, as a son, to avenge my mother. I have avenged her, and it will help me to heal, but now comes the time to honor her. And, Charles… I can think of no better way to honor all she sacrificed for me, than to bask in the wealth of affection you have to offer. You love me - you would marry me, if you could - and I believe you when you tell me these things, because I trust you. So, I am not going anywhere. I love you, you love me, I want to make love to you until the stars fall from the sky, I want to worship you until every scar and unpleasant memory you harbor is forgotten and erased. I want to be here with you, be everything I am capable of being for you, with you, until there’s nothing left of me - I am not going anywhere, and you are not alone, and if you ever were, you never will be again while I’m here on this Earth.”

They stare at each other for a few heavy, silent beats, and then Erik’s conclusion comes as a whisper.

“So, Charles… do you feel the need to clarify anything?”

Charles had clearly made an error when he’d not pinned Erik as a romantic. 

He’s entirely speechless - his knees are actually _weak_ \- he’s never heard such beautiful words spoken so sincerely, and he’s shaken, from his hairline to the soles of his feet. 

He can do nothing but spring up onto his toes, wrap his arms around Erik’s neck, and reel him in to kiss him.

The kiss is gentle, warm, and patient. 

When their lips first meet, Charles can feel Erik’s surprise, but that pleases him. Erik relaxes fairly quickly, though, and kisses him back so sweetly, Charles’ entire body trembles.

Once Charles breaks the kiss to breathe, he announces, “I think the only clarification I need to make is that I absolutely _must_ have you, Erik, and as quickly as humanly possible - and also, I’ve never done anything like this with a man, I’m sure this evening will be full of embarrassments on my part, but, please, do not send me to bed alone tonight.”

Erik smirks, charming as ever, and equally as dangerous.

“Very well,” Erik agrees, walking backwards until Charles is following him, moving toward Charles’ bedroom.

Once they’re in Charles’ room, his unmade bed becomes the focal point of all movement, although Charles has no idea what he’s about to try. 

Looking down and away, hoping to get his heart rate back in check, Charles toes off his shoes, slips off his socks, and as soon as he goes to unbuckle his belt, he finds it snapping unlocked on its own. 

He looks up to see Erik already seated on the foot of his bed, just staring at him, a secret smile at the very edges of his lips.

He must tug the buckle towards him, and slip it through Charles’ belt loops that way, as Charles is pulled forward in a brief stumble, watching as it slithers around his waist, and eventually lands on the floor with a quiet thud. 

Without any visible aid, Charles’ metal pants’ button comes undone next, and he breathes out a laugh.

“I get the distinct feeling you like this.”

“Oh, your distinct feeling is _very_ right,” Charles admits, grinning down at his own groin, like a fool.

His zip is pulled slowly down, and then he’s pulled forward again by his pants, as if Erik is drawing Charles closer to the bed, impatiently. 

Charles laughs again, picks up the hem of his shirt and sweater, slipping them over his head just as Erik is pulling his pants down by just the zipper. 

When Erik stares at Charles’ boxer briefs, he has to wonder, “what - surprised they’re not canary yellow?”

“A little,” Erik jokes.

When Erik stands, Charles steps out of the pool of his clothes on the floor, and reaches for Erik’s waist. His fingers dance over the waistband of Erik’s pajama pants, tempted, wanting, and not even sure for what.

“How far do you want to take this, Charles?”

“I have no idea,” Charles answers honestly, staring up at Erik with a glazed expression, “All I know is I want to touch you, and, honestly, I’m getting a bit desperate to be touched _by you_.”

A hand cups Charles’ face, and he leans into it, shutting his eyes.

_I didn’t imagine you’d be so gentle._

_I can be whatever you want me to be, Charles. Gentle, rough, something in between, or alternating - just tell me what you want, you’ll have it._

“Can I see what your idea of rough is?” Charles asks innocently.

Before Charles can react, he’s being manhandled off the ground, and thrown onto his bed. 

He lands with a ‘puff,’ on the down-blankets and overpriced sheets, and he’s been hard as a rock since Erik had waxed poetic about him against the door of the study, so, he’s rather on full display, now.

Quickly, Erik cages him, crawling atop him, ghosting his lips across Charles’ cheek, jaw, and then latching onto his neck, biting, and sucking blood to the surface.

As soon as Erik’s bitten him, Charles grows harder, his hands fly to Erik’s biceps, and he arches his neck to give Erik better access.

Somewhere along the line of hookups in his graduate years, he thinks he got used to coy hickeys being gifted to him by shy girls, sleepy, a little drunk, and sweet on him - Erik is a hurricane of a man, though - ‘severe,’ as he so politely put it. 

He bites, and sucks, and Charles loses his breath, and it perfectly balances on the fine line between pleasure and pain - it’s astounding, it’s beautiful, it’s _intense_.

Charles cants his hips up, desperate for friction, and whining when there is none to be had.

“Tell me you want me, _neshama_ ,” Erik orders.  [neshama: a common term of endearment in Hebrew; neshama literally means “soul.”]

“I want you - _God_ , Erik - I _want_ you,” Charles gasps, blushing from his cheeks down to his chest - his confession is rewarded immediately, by Erik dropping his weight onto him, sucking on Charles’ collarbone while spreading his back muscles in a spectacular display just to align their waists.

_Oh, **God** , you’re **hard** \- did **I** make you hard?_

Charles thinks it’s a ridiculous question as soon as he’s thought it, but he can’t help it. The thought that _he_ , _Charles Xavier_ , perhaps a bit short for a man, pale, with a body type that can only be described as ‘Very, Very English,’ and a penchant for ugly sweaters, has somehow _seduced_ Erik Lehnsherr, this legend of a man, seems almost laughable to Charles. 

 _Not the first time_ , Erik assures him, moving down his torso, licking and biting all the way down, _My will power has had to outweigh my blood pressure on many occasions to keep our conversations strictly platonic, Charles._

“That’s incredible,” Charles notes, gasping again as Erik nips at sensitive skin around his waist, “I never thought - just - someone so incredible, like you, would ever want me like that -”

“You’re a fool of a genius, Charles,” Erik murmurs against Charles’ blushing skin, “There is _nothing_ \- _**nothing**_ you are unworthy of.”

Inexplicably, Charles’ eyes begin to water, his heart beats harder, and his hands go to touch Erik’s hair.

_Please, say that again…_

“Charles,  _einayim_ _shell_ , there is nothing you are unworthy of.”   [einayim sheli: Hebrew for ‘my eyes,’ usually used as an endearment to mean ‘precious.’]

“Oh, God,” Charles whispers, a warm tear slipping from his eye, down his face.

Erik sits up to take his shirt off, revealing too many scars to count, and muscles Charles wants to dedicate time to memorizing the sculpted appearance of. He kisses a part of Charles’ sensitive flank, licks up his ribs, over his hardened nipple, and when Charles lets a soft moan out, Erik says again, “there is nothing you are unworthy of, Charles.”

Enormous, strong hands slide down his hips, fingers curling into the waist of his boxer briefs. The friction of Erik’s callouses against the velvety texture of Charles’ skin creates an addictive contrast Charles immediately loves. 

“Go into my head, Charles,” Erik encourages, still devoting attention to Charles’ nipples with a rough thumb and gentle teeth.

Charles does, and he feels pride, and pleasure, doubling back to him in this feedback sort of loop - he can feel what Erik is feeling, and it multiplies his experience of it.

_If I didn’t know you would object to it on moral principles, I would kill whoever made you believe you were anything less than a God._

Before Charles can help it, flashes of his childhood peer through the curtains in his mind - the bruising, the beatings, how he used to pull out his hair compulsively, how he hated himself -

He sees himself, suddenly - he is haloed by bright search lights, atop a dark ship. His collared shirt, sweater, and pants are drenched, his hair is sopping wet, his cheeks are flushed, he’s out of breath, and this bright search light behind him is giving him an ethereal halo.

His smile is hopeful, charming, and his eyes shine like sapphires. 

His blush doesn’t look ruddy, but like cherry blossoms on his cheeks, and his entire expression is handsome in a way he has never seen himself.

_We are Kings, Charles. You are so much more beautiful than you know._

A series of memories, suddenly go zipping by - all stolen glances. 

Erik was sneaky, apparently - he has pocketed all of these memories of glancing Charles’ way without Charles noticing him. 

_Taking note of Charles’ good posture, and finding that attractive - thinking of how sturdy and strong Charles’ lower back must be, to keep his posture so dignified all the time, and wondering too long on what those muscles would feel like under his hands._

Erik kisses down his stomach, kissing his navel sweetly, and descending lower, his hot breath tickling Charles’ skin, making the muscles in his stomach jump.

_Hearing Charles laugh gave Erik butterflies, and reminded him of wind chimes, for some reason. The first time **he** made Charles laugh, his heart beat so hard, he thought he was having a panic attack._

Charles gasps as Erik uses the broad of his tongue to lave at the crevice where his thigh meets his hip.

_Erik watching him from across the hall as he runs a hand through his hair, and wondering at how it falls so perfectly back into its pristine, quaffed position. Wanting to touch it, to rake his hand through it, knowing it would be soft, and just enough to tug on._

Those warm, calloused hands run down his thighs, gripping him enough to ground him as Erik’s tongue moves from the thatch of hair at the base of his cock, up to the head.

Charles throws his head back and moans loudly, his hands groping at, and mussing Erik’s hair.

_Charles’ mouth - Erik thinks about his mouth constantly. There are millions of split-seconds that Erik has devoted to just Charles’ lips. How red they are, that they look soft, how they would look around his cock, that his smile is sweet, and endearing, how badly Erik has wanted to kiss him, kiss him, **kiss him** , **kiss him** \- the shape his lips make when he’s about to say “what,” or “who,” - apparently very distracting for Erik._

“Oh, _God_ \- Oh, God, _Erik_ -”

The tears just keep coming now, and Charles can’t really stop them. Every bubble of self-hatred that rises to the surface of his mind is immediately muted by Erik’s adoration of him.

The memories of stolen glances Erik offers are so sincere, Charles can’t deny Erik’s infatuation - he doesn’t understand how Erik sees him so vastly differently than Charles sees himself.

The sinful wet, heat of Erik’s mouth descends over Charles’ cock, and all he can feel, or smell, or hear, or understand, is Erik.

_Charles’ legs, backside, and waist. His lower body, looking lean, strong, maybe a bit petite - touchable. Erik’s hands have had to curl into fists tight enough to hurt just to keep from reaching out. He likes the way dress pants wear on Charles’ arse and thighs, he likes the way Charles’ belts fit around his hips, he’s fantasized about holding onto Charles’ hips and fucking into him, driving himself into Charles, he has wanted Charles so badly, and from almost the very moment they met._

Erik swirls his tongue, bobbing his head up and down, groaning every time Charles’ cock throbs in his mouth, and every vibration of his groans only makes it happen again.

_Charles’ neck - Erik thinks it’s elegant, thinks the bob of his Adam’s apple when he sips his tea is distracting in a delicious way, thinks his jawline is strong, and beautiful, that his ears are inexplicably cute. He adores Charles’ face - there’s not a thing he would change, could he. He loves Charles’ nose, he loves Charles’ brows, he loves Charles’ lashes, bright eyes, flushed lips, his hair, his clavicle - the way his unattractive sweater vests sit very, very attractively over his shoulders._

“Erik - I can’t last, I can’t - if you keep going -”

_I’m going to come, if you keep going like this._

_That was rather the point, Charles._

_No_ , Charles thinks through the fog, still crying, still seeing himself through Erik’s eyes, still reeling from the unadulterated affection he had no idea Erik was capable of, _no - you want to fuck me. You **want** to. **I** want you to. I want you to fuck me, Erik._

_Careful, yonah, that talk may get you precisely what you ask for._

_Good **God** , Erik - **fuck** me - I **will** beg._

As if that’s a threat, Erik slides his mouth off Charles’ cock, leaving a slippery coat of drool that drips down over Charles’ sac, making him feel filthy, but desired too, heady, wanted, and wanting - it’s an incredible combination. 

As quickly as Erik’s mouth is moving from Charles’ cock, he’s surging up Charles’ body, and kissing him with full, kiss-swollen lips. 

Charles communicates telepathically that there’s coconut oil in his bathroom that can be used as lubrication, though he mostly relies on visual representations to instruct Erik on how to get it, as higher brain functions begin to abandon him.

In response, Erik has some random thought, something like ‘of course he would have coconut oil,’ as if that were very _posh_ of him, but Charles doesn’t understand the correlation. 

“Never mind that. Are you sure this is what you want?” Erik checks, gazing into Charles’ eyes.

Erik’s pupils are blown wide, and Charles, despite his mutations, has _never_ felt more powerful than he does in that very moment - having all of Erik’s attention, having Erik at his mercy this way… 

“You _want_ me… you _really_ want me - _me_ … I…” 

He’s speechless, is what he is, but Charles wishes he could communicate the enormity of his feelings without overloading Erik’s psyche. There are no words, though. No visuals either.

“It’s what I want, Erik - I want _you_ \- _need_ you - _please_.”

Erik eyes him up and down, seeming to scan for doubts or hesitations, but ultimately decides to get the coconut oil.

It’s a messy ordeal, certainly, their limited resources are not ideal, but Charles  wasn’t exactly prepared for this type of encounter - he tries to make a mental note to purchase _actual_ lube at some point in the near future, but he gets the feeling that Erik truly will succeed in unraveling him this night, and he will forget his tasks by morning, forget his chores, his responsibilities - possibly who he even is. And that might be wonderful.

Erik swallows his cock again, as he works one, then two fingers into him - Erik keeps him hard, keeps him calm, and opens him up slowly. In fact, Erik takes such time and care in opening Charles up, that Charles begins to feel spoiled on it. As if he’s being lavished with attention he’d never dreamt of, like Erik is a single source of burning, incandescent pleasure, sculpted just for him, and he’s selfish for indulging in it.

 _More_ , Charles sends to Erik, all while writhing and moaning on his mattress, _I’m ready. I want you._

 _I do not think you delicate, Charles_ , Erik assures him, _I mean to take every precaution, anyway. You will be thankful I spent so much time on you._

 _I want to give you the same pleasure, though_ , Charles whines, a bit childishly, _I want - I want to give to you as well as you’ve given to me. I want you to take me._

 _Oh, I will take you, Charles_ , Erik promises, laving up the underside of Charles’ cock, two fingers buried deep in him, _I will take my pleasure from you. I know as soon as I am so close to you, Charles, there will be nothing for me to do but get lost in you, and I will. But do not think I take no pleasure in this. I have loved every moment of ravishing you._

Erik sends him the sensation of Charles’ own body against his - how soft his skin is, and how sweet it is to taste - even his sweat carries over some sugar (likely from all the tea he drinks) and how Erik has adored every taste of him, cherished every kiss, truly loved every touch of their bodies. 

Erik worships him, thinks his body is unreasonably warm, pliant, patient, beautiful - those stolen glances come back in a flood.

_Charles’ wrists, and the way his sleeves slide up his forearm when he checks his watch. His hands, and the veins atop them; his fingers, and how Erik has wanted to suck on them, wet them, has wanted to feel them all over him -_

“Oh, God,” Charles moans, a sheen of sweat having developed over his exposed skin.

His legs twitch, spread wider, his hips cant upwards, and he feels Erik laugh against him.

_Erik watching Charles run and jog, watching his arse bounce beneath the heather grey cotton of his gym pants, wondering what it would be like to grab a handful of just a cheek, to bite into the flesh of it, to spread his cheeks, lick into him, drool over him, eat him out until he’s a quivering mess -_

“Jesus _Christ_ , Erik, if you keep showing me these things, you - you keep - keep - oh, _God_ ,” Charles attempts to say more, but trails off into loud moans as a third finger is introduced to him.

_His voice._

_The sound of Charles’ voice._

_Erik hears Angels singing._

_A simple, ‘good morning,’ and Erik’s heart rate doubles, he feels a sunrise from within, sweet, gentle light, brushing his very exposed heart. He hears Charles speak, and he’s warm inside and out, and he wants Charles - he loves Charles._

_He looks at Charles, thinks of his haloed figure on the coast guard ship, sees him during his typical day, dry, dignified, smartly dressed, just **sees** Charles, and adores him - so brilliant, fucking brilliant, so clever, so witty, so charming, so gorgeous, so perfect -_

“ _Now_ \- Erik, _Erik_ , _now_ \- I need you, I _need_ \- I _need_ you, I _need_ you -”

“Okay,” Erik replies sweetly, calmingly, as he withdraws his fingers, “Calm, Charles. I’m right here. You’ll have whatever you need.”

When Erik is lathering himself with what remains of the oil, Charles has a moment to breathe. A moment in his own mind to acknowledge that Erik was right - the voices are gone. The sound that’s always present in his mind is eliminated. 

All he can think of is Erik - he can only think of Erik, only imagine Erik, can’t see beyond Erik, or feel anything other than Erik’s love for him.

And it’s so much more than he has ever thought he deserved. 

It’s so much more than he ever imagined he could have.

He praises Erik’s naked body when it’s finally exposed to him - he moves his fingers over every scar he can reach, he kisses every surface that comes near enough to his lips, he whispers confessions of love, of admiration, and Erik kisses him back, everywhere he can reach, he returns every admission of love, and soon, Erik is slowly working himself into Charles, stretching him, testing him, taking him.

Charles’ hands scramble for some purchase on Erik’s shoulders, his knees are brought up towards his chest, his feet lock over the small of Erik’s back, and Erik - he uses his long, powerful arms to scoop Charles up, closer to him - closer than close can be.

They’re twined together, breathing the same air, their sweat-dusted skin meeting, Erik in Charles, Charles surrounding Erik - their minds linked, both whited out from the intensity of their pleasure, and the intensity of their intimacy.

It takes a few deep breaths, a few moments to acclimate, but Erik begins to move, and with each thrust, Charles grows more used to the girth, begins to angle his hips up so that his prostate can be massaged with every forward movement, and he gets delirious with it.

His cock is trapped between their bodies, being rubbed by Erik’s body rhythmically, and it’s excruciating, but it’s perfect, it’s beautiful, it’s exactly what he needs, and he digs his nails into Erik’s back, the tears come back, his heart feels so full, he never knew ‘brimming,’ could be an emotion, but it is.

When he scrapes his nails down Erik’s back, Erik lets out this low, pleased rumble, something like what Charles imagines a jaguar sounds like, and he moans back, throwing his head back, arching his body up, adoring him, _adoring him, **adoring him** -_

“Oh, God, Charles - I’m not going to last long. You’re - you’re so tight, so warm…”

“I can’t last much longer either,” Charles admits breathlessly, eyes shutting against the intensity of all the sensory input, “Please - take from me, Erik. I want you to _take_ me.”

A tortured whine escapes Erik’s throat, briefly shocking Charles, but then Erik is pounding into him, _fucking_ into him, and Charles is being rocked up his bed, his mind feels quieted and expanded all at once.

He’s so warm, he’s stretched, his body has tested all its limits this day, his mind has _surpassed_ all of its limits this day, and now his heart, his soul, his faith, his essence is wrapped up in another person in a way he never imagined it could be.

And he loves it.

He loves Erik.

 _I love you back, Charles_ , Erik tells him.

He didn’t realize he’d been projecting his thoughts so loudly.

He hopes it’s not traveling through the entire mansion.

 _God, I love you back_ , Erik repeats, and Charles is gone to the world by the sincerity of his tone.

When he comes, it’s rather suddenly, he’s scraping his dull nails down Erik’s back, his body and mind are melted gold, and he’s quite sure he screams Erik’s name through the long, hard waves of the most perfect orgasm of his entire life. 

He remembers little else before waking to Erik dragging a lukewarm wash cloth over his abdomen.

“There you are,” Erik greets, a little concern in his eyes, “I brought you water - you should sip at it.”

Charles glances to his bedside table, and indeed, there is a glass of water.

He takes it, sips at it shyly, as instructed, and asks, “what… what happened?”

“Well, you had what looked and sounded to be a spectacular orgasm, and I’m rather sure your brain short-circuited after that,” Erik smirks, wiping Charles clean, “I came shortly after you, and as soon as I slowed to a stop, your grip went limp. I believe you might have fainted.”

“Oh, that’s humiliating,” Charles groans, red rushing up to his face again.

Erik chuckles, and smiles kindly at him, “not at all, Charles. It’s been a long day, and we pushed a lot of boundaries today. You need rest. We simply bit off more than we could chew. It will get better with practice. And with something other than coconut oil.”

There are a thousand things Charles could begin to ask or say, but all that truly comes to mind is, “will you stay? In my bed, now?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Yes.”

“Then it will be done,” Erik swears.

Erik dedicates maybe ten or fifteen minutes more to cleaning the two of them, then he shuts the lights, climbs into Charles’ bed, draws the blankets up, and curls around him.

Charles turns his head to look at Erik, and Erik kisses him soundly, sweetly, and whispers against Charles’ lips, “we are glorious, Charles. Someday, you will see yourself for the gem you are. There is nothing you are unworthy of, Charles.”

“I love you,” Charles whispers back.

Erik kisses him, and they rest.

 

* * *

 

 

When Charles wakes, it’s well past noon, and Erik is bringing him breakfast in bed.

Charles spends the rest of the day _hiding_ in his room, in shame, as he finds out, he did, indeed, project his sexual pleasures throughout the entire mansion, apparently causing spontaneous, inexplicable orgasms from room to room.

The rest of the students seem to think it very funny (by Erik’s reports, the only person that did not find it funny was Raven, but Charles can’t even think about that currently) - and he supposes, after everything, it’s a small price to pay.

Because, even as he is hiding in his room, trying to recover from the embarrassment, Erik is there the whole while, kissing him, joking with him, tugging on his clothes, licking him, praising him, loving him - Charles isn’t alone.

He looks into Erik’s eyes, and he feels Erik’s loyalty, he feels Erik’s resolve, Erik’s undying love. 

And, maybe, for the first time in his entire life, he truly believes he will never be alone again.


End file.
